The first hot spurt lands across my left nipple.
Gabriel’s groans are harsh, at once muted and feral; they fill the room as he continues fucking his closed fist. Rope after rope of white liquid paints across my skin. I watch him—strong neck thrown back, muscles clenched—and think that if the pleasure he’s feeling is a tenth as strong as the one I’m experiencing just looking at him…
Well. I’m happy for him, even if my abdomen is stretched tauter than a bow.
“How does this work?” I ask him when he stops, once his hand has stilled and deep breaths are rolling again out of his chest. “Do I clean up before putting myself back together, or does it defeat the purpose?”
“You—don’t wipe it.” His voice is rough. Shaken.
“Of course.” Slowly, quietly, my trembling hand redoes the buttons of the shirt, the army blue hiding the wetness as it seeps through the fabric.
The scent, though… Every single Alpha and Omega will know.
“I hope you enjoyed it,” I say, adjusting on the bed. Between my legs, I am wetter than I ever remember being. I can feel my underwear slide across my cunt as I squirm to find a comfortable spot, slick and downright filthy.
It’s nice, being swollen and tender. The heat feels good and new, something to be cherished and explored. According to other healers I’ve talked to, it’s not uncommon for cold Omegas to have issues with lubrication. I accepted it as the nature of my body, but I did look into alternatives.
I might not need them after all.
“Did you?” The words stumble out of my mouth.
“Hm?” He sounds distracted. Dizzy and hushed. Still staring at my now-covered chest.
“Did you enjoy it?”
Gabriel’s exhale seems full of disbelief, but his lips twitch. “Don’t you have physical proof of it?”
“I’m sure not all orgasms are created equal.” I glance away. “And I hear that you have a lot of experience.”
A pause. “I do.”
“Was this good, then?”
“It was…” He runs a hand through his hair. Seems to look for words. Settles on “yeah.”
“Good. I’m glad. I liked it, too.”
Again, his Adam’s apple bobs. “I can smell you, Sofia.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, I can smell that you liked it.” It takes me a second to realize what he meant, and when I do, my cheeks heat. I’m no prude, but this is not a random anatomical process we’re talking about. It’s my anatomical process.
“Oh.” I bite my lower lip again, coming to a decision. After what I just witnessed about his desires, I have no reason to be ashamed of mine. And if I’m going back home tomorrow…this may very well be the last time I smell Gabriel up close. Once I’m out of his sight, he may never think of me again. I doubt he’ll decide to visit me in the Larsen wing.
So I go for it. “Do you mind if I touch myself? I’ve never… This has never happened to me before. And it might not happen again.”
His laughter is stupefied, lips parted, breath still coming hard, but he says nothing. After a beat, I realize that I don’t need his permission. I slide my hand down, past the elastic of my underwear, and what I find is…
Oh.
My breath hitches, and my eyes flutter closed. I have experimented before, but with little success. Now every touch feels slippery, makes me shiver and arch a little. Every little caress is good, and—
The mattress dips beside me. “Let me help you,” he breathes.
A request. I wonder when the last time was that he made one of those instead of issuing an order.
“With what? Oh.” I’m a little busy with trial and error, figuring out what feels nice and what feels nicer. But the more Gabriel’s scent envelops me, the hotter my blood burns. “I guess you know what to do, right?”
When I open my eyes to look at him, his cheekbones are red and his pupils blown. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”
He’s not very delicate in how he shoves my pants down. Takes them off. Buries his nose into my hip bone and inhales deeply. I let him shift my legs open. “Fuck, you smell perfect.” He grunts. His hand is large and calloused—so much so, I almost expect it to hurt me as it travels up my leg. The hardened patches of skin nearly catch against mine, but the scratch is pleasant, grounding. A testament to the perfection of this moment. It’s me and him surrounded by the almost-silent buzzing of the air converters and life support systems. Back when I still couldn’t read or write, my dad taught me how to distinguish a healthy hum from a near-catastrophic failure.
Right now, everything is alright.
But before touching me, hand hovering above my cunt, he finds my eyes and says, “You may have no way of knowing this, but none of this is normal. None of this has precedents. Not for me.” He waits for my uncertain, fitful nod and then runs his finger against my entrance.
I arch my back, fingers scraping against the blankets.
“Good?” he asks, mouth sliding across my abdomen. “Like this?”
“F-fuck,” I whimper as my bones liquefy. It’s his hands on me. His warmth. His Alpha scent. It’s strong, aggressive, but also right and pretty and aching in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“This is just a taste,” he says, “of what I’ll do to you. When you come back to me.”
“I w-won’t. You should give me all of it now—” My breath rushes out in a gasp as he takes his hand away. I nearly beg him to put it back, but when my eyes spring open, I catch him in the act of licking my wetness off his fingers. His pupils shrink smaller than the eye of a needle.
“Good?” I ask, raspy.
He doesn’t nod or agree, and I experience a moment of fear that I might not be to his liking. But as I’m about to ask, he takes off his shirt. I blink wistfully at the knots of scars on his chest, the wounds that I wish I had been there to treat for him.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.
I nod, waiting for him to climb over me—and then melt into the bed when I realize that he didn’t mean my mouth. His aimless, assured, leisurely licks quickly turn into something greedy and violent. His guttural “fuck” followed by a groan, tells me that yes.
This is good.
“You will come back to me,” he whispers against my skin. “And I’ll punish you for making me wait. And I’ll keep you underneath me for weeks. And you will admit that I was right all along.”
I can’t let myself believe a word of it. So I sink back into the pillow when I feel a shiver run down my spine, and the pleasure crashes into me.
Chapter 19
THE CONCESSION Gabriel
Martia and Ivar meet me outside my rooms in the silent hours before dawn.
“Do we have confirmation?” I ask.
“House Larsen is planning on making a move tomorrow,” he says, sounding remarkably awake despite the sudden summons.
“Time?”
“Late morning, according to my sources.”
“Sabotage?”
He nods. “They’re planning to disable the sealing systems in the military wing.”
“But they’ve also been gathering weapons and forces,” Martia adds. “They might be planning attacks on multiple fronts. As you suspected.”
“Make sure we—”
“We have people watching their every move, yes.” She glances at the door I just closed behind me. “What about…?”
“She wants to return to House Larsen, yes.” I don’t even try to keep my tone neutral. I have no doubt that they can smell what just happened between me and Sofia.